


Thanks Arcann

by minorvariation



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Gen, Humor, Knights of the Eternal Throne, Post-KotET, Theron is a helper, being Arcann is suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 20:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minorvariation/pseuds/minorvariation
Summary: Making Arcann a part of the Eternal Alliance was never going to be easy.





	Thanks Arcann

**Author's Note:**

> So there's [this post on tumblr](https://defira85.tumblr.com/post/161094148892) about "Thanks Arcann" becoming a meme within the Alliance along the lines of "Thanks Obama," and how confused Arcann would probably be to hear it going around once he joins up at the end of KotET.
> 
> And this just... got into my head and wouldn't go away.

The first time, Maia thought she must have misheard. In the midst of the cacophony of improperly-stacked crates toppling and spilling an entire load of ammo canisters across the hangar floor, one could hardly pick out anything intelligible from the chorus of exasperated swearing. It was just some effect of the sound reverberating in the large and busy space, and her own preoccupation with the fight against Zakuul.

She shook it off, and went on with her own work.

She definitely didn’t mishear Hylo Visz griping “Thanks, Arcann,” under her breath a few months later, but that at least made some sense. She’d just finished asking the Mirialan to do whatever she could to stretch out the Alliance’s limited supplies as much as she could manage - a big ask, with the Eternal Fleet blocking off supply lines all over the galaxy. 

If anyone felt like venting their frustration at the situation toward the Emperor whose orders created it, who could hold it against them?

From then on, though, it seemed like Maia heard the same complaint all over the base, more and more frequently as the weeks and months of warfare wore on.

–from Koth, grousing over the comms as he brought the Gravestone down for repairs and maintenance after the latest round of scuffles out in space. 

—from one of a pair of former Republic troopers, walking away with heads down after Admiral Aygo ordered them to scut-work for picking fights with their Imperial colleagues.

—-even from Nico Okarr in the base cantina, mournfully regarding a drink he’d been served with no little umbrella in it.

By that point, with the fighting against Zakuul well and truly over with and its once-Emperor rattling around Odessen like he didn’t have the least idea what to do with himself, Maia couldn’t contain her confusion any longer. 

She had a pretty good idea of who she could ask about it, too.

A rare lull found the two of them otherwise alone in the conference room, picking over the latest round of reports. It seemed like as good a chance as any to ask about the puzzle that had been nagging at the back of her mind. “Theron…”

Hunkered over his datapad, Theron answered with a distracted, “Hm?”

“Want to tell me why half the Alliance keeps blaming Arcann for every little thing that goes wrong?”

Now Theron looked up, the beginnings of a defensive expression coming over his face. “Hey,” he said, “I didn’t start it.”

Maia tried, unsuccessfully, to smother a smile. “Did I say I thought you did? I’ve just been wondering.” That seemed to mollify him, so she went on. “And since you’re the one who knows how to avoid being noticed by people who think they’re having a private conversation…”

“–knew I’d regret telling you that,” Theron grumbled.

“…I thought maybe you could fill me in on how this became a thing.”

With an expansive sigh, he uncurled himself into a more relaxed posture, letting the datapad drop to rest against his knee. “I really don’t know who came up with it,” he said. “It’s just one of those things. Pretty sure it’s been going around since before I got here.”

She raised her eyebrows, giving him a pointed look, but Theron met her eyes unfazed. “The guy _did_ cause a whole lot of problems for pretty much the entire galaxy, Maia. I know you want everybody to get along and be friends, but people don’t forget that easy.”

Because he had a point, Maia could only lift her hands in capitulation. “Just please at least tell me that people aren’t saying it to his face.”

His eyes slid away from hers.

“ _Theron_.”

“…well,” he said, “I know _I_ haven’t. I can’t exactly speak for the whole Alliance - even I don’t hear everything.”

She covered her eyes with her hand as possible scenarios flashed through her imagination.

“Maia.” Theron’s voice softened. “He’s not stupid. He’s bound to know where he stands with people right now.”

“I know.” She drew in a long breath, let it out again. “And there’s probably no getting this particular gizka back into the box, anyway.”

“Nope,” he agreed - sounding, Maia thought, a little more cheerful about it than she’d have preferred. “Might as well stick to worrying about something important.”

Which was true enough, and put an end to that line of conversation as they got back to the work at hand.

It kept bothering her, though, for all her best efforts to put the whole matter out of her mind as something beyond her power to control. She caught herself tensing slightly every time she heard someone let out a sarcastic “Thanks, Arcann!” - guiltily looking around to make sure Arcann wasn’t nearby to hear himself blamed for yet another of the universe’s unfairnesses.

When the boot finally dropped, weeks had gone by since that conversation with Theron. She’d lost the entire day to one strategic meeting after another, and most of the evening had already worn away before Maia finally got the chance to sit down with a cup of tea and try to let her mind rest. 

Tired, distracted, and careless, she let her weight drop a little too hard onto her seat at the dining hall table. A wave of hot tea sloshed over the rim of her mug, spattering the table and soaking her hands, her lap, and a good bit of the front of her clothes.

“Ugh.” It came out of her in a disgusted groan as she surveyed the mess. “Thanks, Arcann.”

Realization jolted through her in the next instant. The mug slipped from her fingers, spilling more tea across the table as Maia clapped both hands over her mouth; across the room, Arcann’s head jerked up in bewildered indignation, and her mortification was complete.

“ _Kriff!_ ” she yelped, muffled by her hands, “now _I’m_ doing it! Arcann, I am so sorry–”

To Arcann’s credit, he took it about as gracefully as anybody had a right to expect. He waved off Maia’s attempts to apologize with awkward, confused dignity and a murmured demurral she didn’t quite manage to catch over the sounds of Theron next to her desperately trying to muffle his snickering.

She briefly considered elbowing him, but gave it up as pointless and just covered her face with her tea-wet hands. “I am never going to hear the end of this.”

(As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. Three days later the entire war room got the singularly odd privilege of witnessing Arcann himself miss the lift up by seconds after hanging back to speak to Senya. Huffing in muted frustration, he dragged his fingers back over his scalp; every head in the room turned in unison as the growled words carried unexpectedly loud across the suddenly-quiet space.

“ _Thanks, Arcann_.”

Theron laughed for a week.)


End file.
